


None of This Was Meant To Happen

by YareYareDawa



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Angst, I don’t want these boys to be sad, Like so much, M/M, Slow Burn, also fluff I hope, but I can’t help my need for angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 10:03:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18602284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YareYareDawa/pseuds/YareYareDawa
Summary: The first time Curt Mega and Owen Carvour meet should have ended in death. But instead they both make a rash decision that changes the course of their lives forever, becoming more intertwined than they ever could’ve imagined.





	1. The Mission Assigned

**Author's Note:**

> Just wanna start by saying loads of this fic will probably include plenty of head cannons spawned in the SAF Discord cause I love y’all and so much of what we’ve talked about has become a part of these characters for me. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Curt knocked lightly on the old, heavy door his boss had apparently insisted on keeping when the rest of the building got updated. She claimed it was for authenticity and replacing it would be a waste of money. Curt suspected it was for dramatic effect. When he heard no reply (probably because of that goddamn door) he opened it and stepped into office.

 

“Hey, Cynthia, you called for me?” He asked, letting the door fall closed behind him.

 

The woman in question was on the phone as he entered the smoke-filled room. She glared at him, jabbing her finger at the chair in front of her and then placing it just as violently over her lips. Curt rolled his eyes but silently took a seat as he was told, crossing his arms and bouncing his leg. He might not have been as crude about it, but Curt was just as impatient as his boss. Not that he would ever admit that.

 

“No, I know that but- no that’s not what I’m saying and you know it!” She forcefully stubbed out her cigarette in frustration, clenching and unclenching her fists in silent fury.

 

“Uh huh… yes, I understand... Of course, Mr Watson, that’s all we want as well. Thank you so much for your time. Bye bye now.”

 

She said her goodbyes with an uncharacteristic false smile on her face that carried to her voice. She slammed down the phone and rolled her eyes, turning to address Curt.

 

“That sounded like a fun conversation.” Curt secretly hoped his attitude could drag some information out of her, but Cynthia disappointingly didn’t bite.

 

“Okay first of all, my conversations are none of your fucking business, so cut the shit.” To Curt’s dismay, she lit another cigarette, shaking her head as she spoke. “Second, what the fuck have I said to you about knocking? No fucking respect, I swear.”

 

“I actually did kn-“ Cynthia cut his protests off with the wave of her hand.

 

“Well then it was a weak-ass knock. Anyway, onto business, I don’t want to be talking to you any longer than I have to.” She opened a draw in her desk and withdrew a huge file, dropping it unceremoniously and leaning back in her chair with a puff of smoke.

 

“You’re off to Paris in the morning. One of their ambassadors fucked up and now pretty much everyone’s pissed. I want you to make sure no one murders him.” She pointed at him with her cigarette and Curt wrinkled his nose as smoke wafted into his face.

 

Curt frowned suspiciously at the ridiculously thick file between them.

 

“Cynthia, are you kidding me? What the hell is all this?” The only things Curt hated about his job was paperwork. Reading through it wasn’t quite as hellish as completing it (and having to actually _write down_ his mistakes) but it was a close second.

 

“Don’t take that tone with me, fucknut. And it’s your background information. Like I said, loads of people want this guy dead and you need to know who you could be up against.”

 

Curt looked at her in disbelief. “So you’re sending me _alone_? To do all this?” He wouldn’t usually complain about the lack of partner; they usually just complained about his methods. But at times like these it was nice to have someone else to read this shit for you.

 

She returned his look with a scathing one of her own. “What, you don’t think you can do it? Because if not, I will gladly send someone else.”

 

Curt shook his head. It wasn’t the mission he was concerned about. In fact, he was more than confident that he could pull it off. It would just require a lot of, well, _planning_. And Curt Mega didn’t do planning.

 

She waved her hand dismissively. “Then I don’t care. Fuck off and study that, a car will pick you up at 4:30am so don’t be late.”

 

Curt picked up the file and stood, pushing in his chair with his foot. As he was leaving the room, Cynthia piped up again.

 

“And, Curt?” He turned his head back towards her, hand still on the door handle. “Don't you dare let me down.”

 

He smiled sarcastically at the woman. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” If she said any more it was swallowed by the accidental slamming of the old door behind him.

 

***

 

Curt’s yawn turned into a groan as he read through the files on the plane. For once he was somewhat grateful for the long journey as it gave him more time to try and learn all of this. However, it wasn’t much consolation. He didn’t think he could learn everything in eight _years_ , never mind hours.

 

The background was simple enough; this dude supposedly made dumb comments about a few world leaders that got out at a United Nations conference earlier that week and a few of those countries took it hard. According to his notes, there were six potential opponents whose reactions ranged from wanting a quick chat to wanting his head on a spike.

 

And there lay the hard part. Every single one of these countries had different potential goals and agents they could send that Curt was expected to have good knowledge on. He had already accepted that was never going to happen, so he decided to focus on the two he was meant to be most worried about.

 

The Russians came as no surprise. He would’ve been more worried if they weren’t being suspected. It was the British files that threw him off guard. They were usually working alongside MI6, not against them. Curt himself had actually worked with one of these agents last summer, so he already knew bits and pieces about Agent Campton, who was one of the men likely to be sent. He’d never heard of the other, Agent Owen Carvour, and they had very little information on him other than a brief description and a warning that caused Curt to frown.

 

‘ **Do** **_not_ ** **engage in combat. If you come into suspected contact, call for immediate backup.** ’

 

Curt got over his initial worry and rolled his eyes. He’d never even heard of this guy, he couldn’t be that dangerous. Besides, half of the Russian agents (of whom there were many more) had similar warnings. If this guy did show up, Curt was sure he could handle it.

 

He got bored very quickly and when the air hostess offered him another drink he didn’t refuse. Discarding the files at his feet, Curt closed his eyes and tried to relax. He was running on very little sleep after his early start this morning and really didn’t want to look a complete state when he arrived in Paris. He knew what he was meant to do and _enough_ about the other agents. Everything would be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there’s the first chapter! I’ve been working on this fic for a while but the start has always evaded me until yesterday. This was originally just gonna be kinda-rivals to lovers but it’s turned into full blown enemies to lovers (which I actually like better) 
> 
> I have no idea how long this is gonna be, I have loads already written but they are at very random points in the story and updates will be very sporadic at least until my exams are over. I’ll try for smaller chapters until then.
> 
> Follow my tumblr @/dreamin-when-i-wrote-this
> 
> Kudos and comments always appreciated :)


	2. The Mission Goes Awry

Everything was not fine. And for once, it wasn’t actually Curt’s fault. Mostly…

 

The mission seemed to start as it meant to go on. His plane had been delayed due to some problem on the runway after they’d already boarded, so over two hours was spent waiting in the cramped plane whilst the passengers got more and more irate. Due to the massive delay his booked car had assumed he wasn’t coming and abandoned him, leaving him to wait ages for a taxi. By the time he’d arrived at his accommodation he was pissed but grateful that his incredibly early flight had given him plenty of time in case of an emergency. At least, it should have done.

 

He thought he had around half an hour when he finally got to his hotel (much nicer than usual, probably due to the fact that he had to stay in close proximity to the very rich man he was protecting) so he took his time getting changed and cleaned up. However another glance at his schedule for the next week had shown that he had gotten the time completely wrong and was nearly an hour late. That one, Curt had to admit, was on him.

 

So when he finally met up with a very disgruntled Monsieur Charron and his team, they weren’t in the best mood after having to sit in a small cafe for an obnoxious amount of time. They were meant to discuss the situation and sort out some sort of placement plan for the week before heading off to some meeting but Curt was informed rather coolly by the translator that they no longer had time for that. It had not been a very good start to their working relationship and the mood continued like that for the next few days. Curt would trail around after them all day, be practically ignored by everyone and wait for a threat that never seemed to arrive.

 

It didn’t bother Curt that those assholes disliked him. But he was already sick and tired of this mission. All this time he’d done nothing but wait around and for what? To watch a stuck-up politician who didn’t even want his help? No thanks. But Curt had a job to do and he was going to keep this guy alive no matter what it took, even if it was only because Cynthia would literally murder him as well if he didn’t. And that is how he ended up sitting silently at the back of a conference room (for the third day in a row, might he add) bored out of his mind with only his notes to keep him entertained.

 

The bastards seemed determined to annoy Curt as much as possible; they wouldn’t even tell him what this meeting was about. So there he sat, cursing himself for choosing to learn Spanish all those years ago instead of the French alternative. Even if it had allowed him to have an admittedly amazing time on a recon mission in Barcelona where he got into that high speed boat chase…

 

He sighed heavily at the memory, ignoring the dirty look he got from the man nearest him. What he wouldn’t give for some action right now. He went back to his boring notes once again. Why couldn’t Adrik Petrov come bursting through the window for him to shoot at. Despite knowing better, glanced up towards it and still managed to be disappointed by the lack of a Russian assassin climbing over the rooftops. The sun streaming through the window hit Curt directly, suffocating him even more in the already stifling room. Just one more thing to make his life miserable.

 

As the dull man he was supposed to be protecting droned on and on, Curt considered doing the Russian’s job for them. Anything to escape this damned room.

 

Wait. He could. Leave that is, not blast bullet through his guy’s brains. So he stood quickly, the sound of his chair scraping the ground interrupting Monsieur Charron and alerting the rest of the room to his movement.

 

“Uh, I’m going outside. The door. To guard.” Curt fumbled through his explanation as he backed out of the room filled with an even mix of confused and disapproving faces. He shook his head as he let the door click shut. He probably could’ve handled that better. Taking a deep breath, he finally felt himself relaxing as he observed the empty corridor. He should be thankful for the lack of activity, it made his job easier, but it was only putting him more on edge. He’d gone into this mission expecting to be constantly bombarded with enemies trying to eliminate the target and forcing Curt to play the hero. Instead he’d spent three days on the most boring babysitting job imaginable and it was driving him crazy. Why couldn’t someone just fucking shoot already?

 

He was dragged out of his thoughts when a figure appeared behind the window of the door at the far end of the corridor. This man definitely wasn’t supposed to be here, they’d booked out the entire floor to make sure of that. Curt’s hand twitched next to his gun and he grinned. Maybe his wish was coming true after all.

 

“Hey!” The man walked through the door hesitantly as Curt yelled. Curt tried to make himself seem as big as possible and took a few steps towards him, though he still refused to stray far from the room. “What’s your business here?”

 

The man held up his hands passively and cleared his throat. “I am sorry, my friend, I get lost. Would you help me?” He lifted a piece of paper out of his pocket as he spoke in a thick and apologetic french accent.

 

Curt didn’t buy it for a minute. He observed the man as he approached, unable to identify him by his dark eyes and slicked back hair. His brain was whirring as he thought through his files and prayed it was someone he recognised and knew something about. It obviously wasn’t a woman nor Agent Campton (hard to forget what that guy looked like). No scar across the cheek so couldn’t be Adrik Petrov, the other Russian guy had a wider jaw than that-

 

The jaw. Of course, that Owen Carvour guy had a crooked jaw. And whilst it may not have been that noticeable, Curt couldn’t deny that it was definitely there. The smirk that had been on his face from his discovery faded slightly as he remembered the warning accompanying this guy, but he pushed the thought aside. Anyone stupid enough to think they could get away with wondering up to Agent Curt Mega hiding behind nothing but a dumb accent was in for a surprise.

 

Curt smiled and beckoned the man to come closer. “Oh no, I understand. Show me where you’re supposed to be, I can help you out.”

 

The man’s face lit up and he unfurled the paper in his hand. “Many thanks, sir! This building has caused me much confusion.” He reached out to pass it to Curt.

 

“Oh don’t worry, it confuses me as well…”

 

Curt took a final quick step towards him and grabbed his outstretched arm. “How stupid some people are, that is.”

 

He pulled the man’s arm behind his back and, grabbing the other one before he had time to pick up a weapon, pinned him against the wall with a grunt.

 

Agent Carvour immediately relaxed his features into a smirk. “Oh you’re good,” he crooned, his authentic English accent finally making an appearance. “But I was expecting that. Thanks for not letting me down, Agent Mega.”

 

Curt stiffened at the use of his name but tried to brush it off. After all, he knew this guy and what difference did it even make? Curt still had the upper hand. As if trying to prove that, Curt pressed the other harder against the wall and he squirmed in discomfort.

 

“Can’t say the same for you, unfortunately. Did you really think that trick would fool me?”

 

The other man let out a small wheeze of laughter. “Well I’m ever so sorry to disappoint.” He words sounded forced, likely on account of his face being crushed against the wall. “But I think it did fool you, dear.”

 

Curt’s eyes widened and in his split second of hesitation, Agent Carvour had slammed his heel into the underside of Curt’s right knee with a crack. It buckled beneath him and the other was able to slip from Curt’s grip. He managed to just about remain standing, rolling his knee slightly with a hiss of pain.

 

Carvour pulled a sleek blade out of his pocket with a smile. “Oh dear, Mega, what’s this? You appeared to have been _fooled by my tricks_.”

 

Curt scowled at the other man’s cocky demeanour. He had this air about him that commanded a certain level of fear and respect that made Curt uneasy. He drew his gun and pointed it at Agent Carvour menacingly. “Oh congratulations, asshole, you tricked me. Too bad that toothpick of a weapon won’t do me any harm.”

 

Owen rolled his eyes. “Oh no, Mega, please don’t be so unrefined as to bring a gun to a fist fight.” He slipped his own weapon back into his pocket and cracked his knuckles. “I was just beginning to have some fun.”

 

Curt didn’t lower his weapon. This guy wasn’t going to charm him into losing the fight, even with those piercing eyes and the intense way he held himself. He obviously thrived on the fear of his enemies and Curt wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction.

 

“Yeah, as if I’d lower myself to your levels. I have the upper hand, dumbass.”

 

Owen frowned slightly. “Not very creative with the insults today, are we?”

 

Curt quirked an eyebrow in response. “Today?” He didn’t know why he asked. He should’ve just shot this guy as soon as he had the chance. Which was now. But instead, he stayed still and listened.

 

“Well if course! Your reputation precedes you, love. You’re basically a secret celebrity.” Owen smirked and took a step towards Curt. “You haven’t heard the things people say about you?”

 

 _Shoot him…_ Curt thought desperately. He shook his head in response. _Stop playing along with him and_ shoot _goddammit!_

 

“Oh the stories they tell about you, Curt Mega.” Owen took another step. Curt could feel his injured knee shaking beneath him. “About how you’re talented, clever, successful on even the toughest of missions…” Another step. “But you’re arrogant…” Step. “And overconfident…” Step. “And make rash decisions.” His final step brought him right up to Curt.

 

His knee finally gave out and dropped down, being forced now to look up at his assailant. Carvour has this deadly, almost hungry look in his eyes as he observed the other man. Curt was still holding his gun in front of him, but his hands were shaking and he still hadn’t taken a shot. There was something about this guy that filled Curt with dread. Maybe his file had been correct.

 

The Englishman reached down confidently and wrapped his slender fingers around the pistol. “Come on, love. Let’s have some fun.” He pulled the weapon from a frowning Curt’s hands with ease and slid it across the floor. “Now that’s bett-“

 

Curt pushed himself up swiftly, ignoring the stabbing sensation in his knee. Agent Carvour wasn’t prepared for Curt to drive his head up and, with the force of his whole body, it connected with his chin. Carvour stumbled back with a surprised yell and Curt winced slightly from the new pain. He was surprised to hear a laugh from the other man.

 

“Oh, very good, Curt!” He narrowed his eyes and his smile twisted to a snarl. “That’s more like it!”

 

They began circling each other, both daring the other to make the move. Curt, having gotten over his initial intimidation after getting a hit in, was meeting Agent Carvour’s gaze unflinching. This guy wasn’t so special. He was flesh and blood, just like Curt. Still, neither wanted to pounce first.

 

“What’s wrong, Carvour? Have I scared you now?” Curt’s teasing finally brought a real look of annoyance to the other’s face but he still refused to bite.

 

Curt’s eyes flicked to the floor for anything that could help and he saw it; a part of the carpet was bunched up nearby. He began to slowly move forwards, forcing the other to do the opposite. When he was near enough, he lunged and Agent Carvour took a quick step back, catching his heel on the carpet and losing his balance. Curt took his chance to catch him in the stomach with his left fist. It was his weaker side, but it still packed a heavy punch that sent the man reeling with a splutter. Curt charged after him, not letting up in his pursuit.

 

Carvour’s eyes narrowed and he met Curt halfway, grabbing his arm and twisting it to pull him to the floor. Before he fell, Curt hooked his foot around the back of the other agent’s leg, dragging him painfully down on top of him. Both men panted heavily, Carvour successfully (if unintentionally) pinning Curt to the ground with his whole body. He slipped the knife out once more from his sleeve and held it up to Curt’s neck.

 

Heart racing, Curt sensed the danger he was back in, but tried to play it off. “Now who’s not playing fair.” His voice was weak, both from the man lying on his chest and slight fear.

 

“I don’t think you’re in a position to be joking right now, Mega.” That dangerous look was back in his eyes and Agent Carvour pressed the cold blade right up against Curt’s throat. “At least pretend to be scared so that I can get _some_ satisfaction from this dull affair.”

 

Curt smiled weakly. “Well if that’s what you’re into…” His laughing was cut short as Carvour ran the knife painfully across his cheek. _Shit_ , Curt thought anxiously, _now what?_

 

He tried to go limp and he looked the other agent right in his deadly, hypnotic eyes. “Shit. You’re right.” He muttered. “Look, maybe we can talk about this-”

 

Agent Carvour interrupted him with a barking laugh. “Oh, as if I’m going to fall for that, Mega! I really thought you were smarter than that. What a shame.” His smile was cold as he raised the blade and Curt only just managed to catch his arm before it was plunged into his chest.

 

“Wait, wait! I’m not trying to trick you, I swear! Please, just listen to me!” Curt swore he wasn’t begging. This was just a strategy to get out of this fucked up scenario.

 

A strange look crossed Agent Carvour’s face, the cold intensity in his eyes fading slightly. He opened his mouth but before he could utter a sound, there was a crash of smashing glass accompanied by three sharp bangs. The noise appeared to be coming from the conference room and both men whipped their heads towards it, with differing reactions.

 

Panic flooded through Curt as he realised his mistake. Why had he ever left the room? Why has he let this guy distract him instead of keeping an eye on his job? He tried again to push the other agent off him, but the Brit just looked down on him with an oddly content look on his face.

 

“Well, looks like my job here is done!” He threw Curt a wicked smile. “Thanks for the entertainment, love. I usually hate playing backup but this was...” he cocked his head in consideration. “Yeah, it was pretty fun.”

 

With that he raised the knife once again. Curt’s eyes widened and before he had chance to do anything, the knife was descending upon him. He shut his eyes and turned his head and-

 

There was was a dull clunk next to Curt’s head, but no pain. His eyes snapped open and found the knife embedded in the ground next to him. He could no longer see the other man. Curt pushed himself up, ignoring the way his head spun and knee ached. Turning his head, he could see Agent Carvour calmly walking away as if nothing had happened.

 

“Hey!” Curt spied his gun on the floor nearby and scrambled to get it, remaining down on one knee as Agent Carvour turned around. When he saw the gun in Curt’s hand and the determined look in his eye he shook his head.

 

“Don’t try to shoot me, love. From that distance and position, odds are you’ll miss and then I’ll get the chance to kill you.” He removed his gun from its holster for the first time their whole encounter and pointed it back at Curt. “Don’t give me that chance, Mega.”

 

His cocky smirk made Curt’s blood boil. If this asshole thought he could manipulate him into doubting himself after what happened earlier was obviously not a very good judge of character. Carvour began walking backwards, that stupid smirk and lazily pointed gun still taunting him.

 

Curt took aim and shot, hitting him on his left shoulder. He swore and dropped his gun, grabbing his shoulder with the other hand. His face had been wiped clean of arrogance and replaced with shock.

 

“Sorry, but I don’t take my orders from you, _love._ ” Curt spat. The brief feeling he had of satisfaction was washed away when the other began laughing uncontrollably.

 

“H-holy shit… you really- you’re just as crazy as I’ve heard!” Agent Carvour seemed to be struggling to get the words out, between the laughter and the pain. The juxtaposition was unsettling to say the least.

 

Curt grimaced at him. “Well what can I say. I’m Agent Curt Mega.”

 

The other’s laughter had ceased, but a wide grin was still spread across his face. “You certainly are. Crazy Curt Mega. _Reckless_ Curt Mega.” He chuckled to himself. “I can’t quite tell if I despise or love that.”

 

He shook his head and Curt tensed up and pointed the gun firmly at him once again. Agent Carvour rolled his eyes and dropped the hand that was clutching his shoulder, leaving it hanging limply at his side. He reached down to collect his dropped weapon and brandished it with what Curt had assumed was his weak hand.

 

“Really sorry, dear, but I’m afraid I’m just not that simple.” He gestured slightly with the gun as he spoke. “As fun as this has been, I really do need to be off, and I’d appreciate it if I didn’t have to dodge bullets the whole way out.” He winked as he continued walking. “Do keep in touch, love.”

 

Curt kept his pistol silently fixed on the Brit as he backed away. It wasn’t until he has closed the door behind him with a salute that Curt finally unloaded the rest of his clip into the back of it. He scowled at the now splintered wood for a few more moments whilst he reloaded, almost hoping Agent Carvour would come back so that he could finish the job. Almost. Curt was starting to understand the warning he’d been given about this agent.

 

He glanced to the side and he saw the knife that had been abandoned along with a piece of paper that he hadn’t noticed earlier. He crawled over to it, pulling the blade out with a grunt and regarding with a certain distaste the elegant ‘ _O.C’_ the had been carved into the ornate handle. The paper that had been left behind just had a number on it, with the same initials printed underneath.

 

_“Do keep in touch, love.”_

 

Owen Carvour’s words filled his head as he knelt there. There was something about that man, something that kept Curt from killing him when he knows he should have. Whether it was intimidation or just a momentary lapse in judgment, he was sure of one thing.

 

Curt _hated_ him.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Owen arrives! This was meant to be shorter and posted sooner but somehow 3k words were produced and here we are.  
> I rewrote the fighting a million times cause I wasn’t happy with it so I hope it turned out alright in the end. Close-combat scenes are not my strong point but this was super fun to write (if less fun to edit)  
>    
> Follow me on tumblr @/dreamin-when-i-wrote-this
> 
> Kudos and comments always appreciated :)


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